Chapter 1: A Soul Drifted into the Dark
Yan Tangtang sat in a daze, half-gloomy and half-stunned, inside a small, dilapidated shack that looked as if it would collapse under the slightest gust of wind.
Through a window made of rotting wood, its shutters long gone, she stared blankly at the ink-black sky.
She had transmigrated.
Otherwise, why would she—who should be in her university dormitory with her roommates—be all alone in the middle of a pitch-black night in this ragged place that could hardly even be called a house?
She had already spent a long time stumbling through the darkness of this hovel, shouting "Is anyone there?" repeatedly until her throat burned and her voice grew hoarse.
The result: no one was here.
And even if someone were here, it would likely be spirits invisible to the naked eye.
That thought sent a shiver of dread through Yan Tangtang, and she instinctively rubbed her arms to ward off the chill.
If she could ask someone just one question right now, it would be this:
"If you're going to make me transmigrate, couldn't you at least do it during the day? Or if not, couldn't there be at least a little bit of light?"
Ever since she woke up, her surroundings had been shrouded in darkness.
After fumbling around the house and reaching her limit of bumping into things, she had retreated to the room where she first awoke. In this room, because the window lacked a shutter, a faint starlight filtered in.
Though there was no moonlight, it was enough to be considered a small mercy.
As an ordinary 21st-century student, Yan Tangtang had succumbed to terror for a brief moment.
However, upon deeper reflection, was she not essentially a soul who had drifted into this world through transmigration?
This thought brought a strange sense of relief. Having explored the house and confirmed she was alone, she began to focus on the more pressing matters at hand.
She had transmigrated. But where? Into whose body?
If she were to consider the most immediate possibility, it was likely the novel she had just finished reading: The Biography of a Fujoshi in the Cultivation World.
The reasoning was simple: the moment she blinked after finishing the final chapter of that book, this vast darkness had fallen upon her.
So, it's possible I've crossed into that novel, right?
That was the first possibility.
The second was the fact that the novel featured a "cannon fodder" character who shared her exact name.
Oh... how many stories are there about transmigrating into characters with the same name? If you piled up all the transmigration stories in the world, wouldn't two-thirds of them follow this trope?
Another reason was a vague, intuitive feeling she'd had ever since reading the novel's synopsis—a haunting hunch that she might actually end up inside it.
Whether one would call it a gut instinct or a sign from a generous Heaven showing her an omen, she wasn't sure.
Yan Tangtang was nineteen years old. She was a firm believer in the phenomenon of transmigration, possessing an almost obsessive conviction that it would one day happen to her. Whenever she encountered a story she liked, she would mercilessly criticize characters she disliked, wreaking havoc in the comment sections and stirring up waves of controversy.
She did this because she had read countless stories where those who criticized characters ended up being transmigrated into their shoes.
She used to declare her manifesto constantly:
"If I ever get the chance to transmigrate, I will live my life with purpose! I'll live joyfully, vibrantly, and I'll change myself so completely that I won't even recognize my old life!"
Indeed, from such a declaration, it was painfully obvious that her life was far from happy.
When Yan Tangtang was seven, her mother passed away. In less than a year, her father remarried. As a child, she had refused to accept this. Her mother had barely been gone, and her father had already "gifted" her a stepmother.
Her father was a man of few words, possessed of a cold temperament. As she grew older, Yan Tangtang couldn't help but think: Even with such a frigid and silent nature, he managed to take another wife in less than a year. Oh, Father! Your daughter truly failed to follow in your footsteps.
At nineteen and having never had a boyfriend, Yan Tangtang would often "cry without shedding tears" whenever she thought of this.
Unfortunately, the only thing she truly inherited from her father was his habit of silence.
Of course, she hadn't been like this when her mother was alive.
As for her stepmother—Yan Tangtang's life wasn't exactly a Cinderella story.
Her stepmother treated her like air.
Yes, she wasn't cruel; she didn't abuse her. But she wasn't kind either. Affection? She didn't even offer the thin, superficial layer of a pretense.
By the time Yan Tangtang reached adulthood, the number of words her stepmother had spoken to her could be counted on one's fingers.
So there she was: a cold, silent father; a stepmother who treated her like a breeze; a half-sister nine years younger; and a half-brother twelve years younger.
Consider for a moment how one should describe such a life.
Her father was always away at work. Even when he returned, he wouldn't go out of his way to speak to her. Even if she was right beside him, he would simply go about his business. He didn't drive her away, but he didn't pay her any mind either.
Her stepmother didn't care to talk to her. She offered neither a smile nor a frown. Her silence simply conveyed: Eat what is in the house, then go mind your own business.
And her younger siblings? The age gap was vast, and they shared different mothers. Furthermore, having grown up under the influence of her father and stepmother, Yan Tangtang had become a person of few words. Even if she wanted to coax or play with the children, the sounds would get stuck in her throat as if someone were strangling her.
Naturally, her family—minus her—seemed to be a rather warm and lively unit. During family meals, she lived like someone who was deaf and mute. From her seat at the very edge of the dining table, she would watch her stepmother tease her children, or ask the father about work, or discuss the affairs of relatives and neighbors. But none of it had anything to do with Yan Tangtang.
When she was younger, seeking the attention of adults, she used to try and join the conversations. But sadly, her father was a man of few words; he had no interest in engaging with a child's rambling. Her stepmother would stop talking the moment Yan Tangtang spoke, or she would simply change the subject and ignore her.
Sometimes, Yan Tangtang felt her stepmother was incredibly cruel. She didn't hurt her body; she only wounded her soul.
Admittedly, as a young girl, it was incredibly painful and difficult to bear, yet she had no one to tell.
Moreover, ever since her biological mother died, her father stopped taking her to see her maternal grandparents, causing them to lose touch. Visits to her paternal grandparents were rare to begin with, and after the stepmother arrived, whenever they visited the stepmother's family, Yan Tangtang was always left behind under the guise of "house-sitter."
Good!
That was the adult Yan Tangtang's opinion. Perfect.
She was certainly alive, yet she lived like a ghost within her own family.
Human behavior is highly contagious. As she grew up, Yan Tangtang became increasingly silent. She stopped seeking out her father. She stopped crossing paths with her stepmother. She ate what they provided; she took what they gave.
By the time the wounds in her heart had scarred over, she was an adult. To her, "family" no longer held any meaning. To them, she was a ghost. To her, they were like the wind. Even if she had to leave this family forever, she would feel absolutely nothing.
Life at home was meaningless, so she stayed in the school dormitory. But because of her silent nature, her only "friends" were her roommates, with whom she exchanged only a few words a day. It was truly pathetic.
While her stepmother provided just enough for her tuition and food, it was strictly "just enough." There was nothing left for clothes or personal items. Consequently, she took a part-time job while studying. Her employer, her fellow part-time coworkers, and a few familiar customers she'd occasionally chat with were the only additions to her life.
Of course, none of them were significant. They were superficial connections. There wasn't a single person in that life who made her want to stay or feel a sense of belonging. Even these shallow relationships were far too few.
Yan Tangtang felt her life was as flavorless as air.
The only thing that offered her a modicum of solace was the novels she became addicted to in her early teens.
Later, she moved on to online web novels.
While she didn't enjoy speaking in real life, she loved leaving comments while reading novels online. Gradually, her focus became entirely submerged in these fictional worlds.
As she read more and more transmigration stories, her heart began to throb with a strange yearning. She began to fantasize about what she would do if she were given the chance to cross over, her obsession growing deeper by the day. Eventually, she became utterly convinced that she was destined to experience transmigration herself.
She had prepared herself to change her life completely if she ever crossed over, right down to her habits and personality.
Of course, while Yan Tangtang longed to transmigrate, she hadn't lost her mind. She was still rational. She didn't seek death, nor did she do anything illogical. She simply waited, patiently.
That was her old life in retrospect. And now, the current Yan Tangtang had finally transmigrated.
Finally, her wish had been granted. Heaven was compassionate and had keen eyes; it had pulled her out of her flavorless existence and given her a new life.
But was Yan Tangtang happy right now?
She wasn't entirely sure.
Because she had a strong suspicion—nearly a certainty—that she had transmigrated into the novel The Biography of a Fujoshi in the Cultivation World.
And that happened to be the one novel she wanted to transmigrate into the least....